Wise, O Man, thou only shalt become
When thou winn'st unto the evening coolness
Of the topmost height, the Earth o'erlooking.
Turn thee at the ending of the way,
Rest an hour, O king, and look behind thee!
All is clear there, all is reconciled,
And the realm of youth once more is gleaming,
Strewn as erst with light and morning dew.

Ah! I take my breakfast,
Viewing morning glories.

I came weary, seeking an inn —
When lo, these wistaria flowers!

No letters to the frontier come,
The winter softens into spring ...
I tremble as I draw near home,
And dare not ask what news you bring.

How noble he who realizes not,
From lightning-flashes, life is vain!

You ask when I come ... and I dream of Pa Mountains,
Of autumn-pools brimming all night with the rain,
Of trimming a wick in the western window —
Of hearing your voice all night in the rain.

Holy Spirit, I worship thee.
Fire and Victory is thy name.
Shine in our need, O spirit of power,
Shine o'er the gulf of our dread last hour,
Burn unto ashes our mortal frame! —
Even in death mine arms shall be
Outstretched in prayer to thy deathless flame.

The first snow — just enough
To bend the jonquil leaves.

The quails are chirping in the dusk
Aware the hawks' eyes are now dim.

A cuckoo has cried; lo! the moon
Gleams through a great grove of bamboos.